


firewood

by starrwatcherr



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Awkward First Times, Blow Jobs, F/M, First Kiss, Grinding, OOC, Secret Relationship, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:13:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23109034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrwatcherr/pseuds/starrwatcherr
Summary: Lukas is asked to help Faye collect firewood. Unfortunately, he doesn't realize that there is more than heavy lifting involved.
Relationships: Efi | Faye/Lukas
Kudos: 7





	firewood

**Author's Note:**

> ram village becomes rosanne when awakening hits and no one can convince me otherwise. this should give more context to the other pieces i've posted, treat it as a primer. that hc from midnight prayer comes back too bc scars are hot.  
> i'm @starrwatcherr on twitter.

There’s been something lingering between the two of them for a while. Perhaps infatuation, possibly lust, but definitely something. And not just the relationship of Lukas coming to the village and recruiting her, no it’s something more. Something in the way her lashes flutter when they speak, something in the way he talks when she’s near, something in the way that neither of them look at each other in the eyes. At least... Until the other one’s not looking.

Lukas knows it, but not well. Emotions do not bode well with him, they’re hard to process, sort through, categorize. But he does know that something about Faye makes him excited: be it the fact that she doesn’t talk of nobility like everyone else, or that she’s always happy to lend him a hand or sit up in front of the fire with him while others rest.

Or maybe it’s the fact that he can’t have her. The heart and eyes look fonder on what one cannot have. She’s endlessly devoted to their leader, to her friends, to their cause; why would she have eyes for him, for anyone else. 

Still. He can look her way and think sweet thoughts of her. Perhaps even salacious ones. Mila knows he’s woken from many dreams with her beckoning him softly. 

“I’m going to collect firewood.” Faye says after supper that night. She’s cleaning her tin dishes when Alm speaks up.

“It’s late, you shouldn’t go alone.” He says.

“I’ll be fine Alm.” She insists.

“You might be, but I’m not willing to take that chance. Lukas?”

He looks up from the scraps of his meal. Python’s voice becomes a simple rumble. “Yes?” He says.

“Will you go with Faye to collect firewood?” Alm asks. He notices the other villagers’ heads perk up when he asks. They don looks of incredulity and shock.

“Alm, seriously, I’ll take Rosanne with me it’ll be fine—“

“Faye, don’t argue.” Alm says, he glances back to the knight. “Please Lukas?”

He would much rather wile away the rest of the night with whatever book in his tent and try to not think of her. But he cannot refuse the leader of the Deliverance. “As you wish.” Lukas answers, glancing Faye’s way when her eyes widen and face flushes.

“It is fine, I can handle myself.” Faye insists.

“I must insist to come with you Faye.” Lukas says. “We are far from Zofia. Safety is no longer a right, but a luxury.”

“I can fight for myself! I’m an adult, I don’t need someone to follow after—“

“Faye, as your commanding officer, I am coming with you.” He orders firmly. She fights anger, knotting her hands into fists. The other villagers simply look on with wide dumb eyes. “Now, shall we go before it is pitch black and freezing?”

Alm exchanges a look with his fellow villagers as Faye spins on her foot hard and moves to pick up a wicker basket used to collect wood.

* * *

Sunlight fades along the golden edge of the horizon as Faye searches the ground for twigs. Her straw-coloured hair turns gold in the light. She’s far ahead from him, searching diligently and unwavering.  Lukas loads up his basket with a few branches and twigs, watching how she hurriedly searches and glances behind her every now and then. Her fingers curl into the banners of her uniform, along her soft thighs. Lukas looks away. Such a sight is unchaste for a knight, let alone shameful for a noble.

She doesn’t stay a word, still hurriedly searching for firewood. Finally, not able to bear this silence any longer, Lukas speaks. “So what am I not aware of?” 

Faye’s head snaps up almost immediately, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Your friends seemed shocked when I said I was coming with you to collect firewood.” He says. “Is there something I am not aware of?”

Her mouth gapes, then shuts promptly. “It’s nothing.”

“You gave great resistance when I said I wanted to come along.” Lukas says. Faye turns away.

“It’s just some stupid old wives’ tale.” She says. “Nothing big.”

“If it’s bothering you this much, then it is not stupid nor nothing.” He presses. “Tell me.”

She snaps then, turning around sharply on her heel. Her hands knot into tight little fists. “Why do you want to know?” She asks. 

“It might affect you on the battlefield. I cannot have that for the Deliverance’s mind, nor my own worries.”

Faye gives him a hard look before tracing the ground with a long twig. She can’t keep his gaze, almost like a scorned student. “Ram has tradition of women and men going out to collect firewood and doing much more.” She says, leaning down to busy herself from the topic. She picks up a handful of twigs, nails scraping in the dirt as they scratch along her arms. “Firewood is apparently the spark of passion in a girl’s heart.”

Lukas’s brow softens. He laughs a little, a symphonic and sweet sound. “I am glad it is that.” He says. “I thought you hated me.”

“Hated you?” She echoes.

He nods. “You seemed furious that I was coming.” He says.

Faye shakes her head quickly. On impulse, she reaches for his hand and holds it tight in hers. His heart quakes a little. “I don’t hate you, far from it.”

For a second, he’s lost in her dark eyes. Alluring, like the undiscovered depths of a dungeon where they fight perilously. Lukas notices then, that her skin is freckled, just underneath her eyes. Little light dots splash across her skin, trailing down and under her slim jaw and...

He can smell the softness of flowers in her hair, her locks slipping between his fingers. They’re soft, surprisingly untangled from how quickly she speeds through the battlefield. Tenderly, her gaze meets his, an ache building in his chest. 

She is not tact in the least, but neither is he. She presses her lips to his, catching him by surprise. He melts into her, pulling her tight against his frame. The wicker basket of wood on their backs restrict them. She’s handsy, her touch grazing his forearm, his palm, his neck, chest. Her fingers clench into his thigh. In a moment of weakness he lets out a wince. 

It makes Faye break from him. Her eyes widen as she turns away, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. Just as surprised as he was before, he watches as the villager turns red. “I’m sorry.” He immediately apologizes.

“What for?” She asks. “I’m the one who kissed you.”

The realization kicks in, turning her as red as his armour. He catches quips and tidbits of what she says—“ _Gods Faye you little—_ “, “ _wasting emotion_ ”, “ _he’s a noble_ ”.

He wants to touch her thigh and make her squeal or groan like he did. But something he can’t do, thanks to years of proper noble conduct and the like. He’s always frozen up when it comes to physical touch, some paralyzing fear gripping him whenever his “special lady friend” would come nearer in such flirtatious and uncouth ways. Words come instead of action. It’s soft, a mumble that doesn’t feel right on his lips. Her brow furrows at his croak. Faye quickly looks the other way.

He says it a little louder, staring her down. “I liked it.”

Her head snaps up. “You what?”

Now it’s his turn to turn red. Faye shakes her head, turning away again. She repeats the dividers between them. That is he noble and she is common; that he is a knight and she is only a village cavalier; that she is a young woman and he is a man.

But Lukas does not see these dividing lines. Only that she is looking away hurriedly, eyes searching for something other than twigs. He also sees that she wears a blush well, under a slight tan from marching through Flostym and Avistym, that her straw-coloured bangs hide her eyes every so slightly, moving out of the way when she blinks and her long lashes flutter. 

Words come again. Lukas snatches them up before they can leave him. “Faye, I... I would dearly appreciate it, if you could share one thing with me.”

“And what is that?”

“Your knowledge.”

She laughs bitterly. “You’re the one from noble blood. I’m just a villager, what do I know.”

“How to love.” He says, feeling a little sheepish when he says it. Truthfully, he’s thought of this many, many times before. This girl has more love just in her small heart than Lukas has in his whole body. It makes him ache, burning through his bones and sinew and to the skin in fiery flush. “And should we be facing our deaths with the coming battles, I want to know how to do just that.”

Her dark eyes scan him, placing him under a scrupulous watch. “Did someone put you up to this?” She asks cautiously.

“No, never.” He insists, trying to be sincere. 

“Don’t go wasting your emotion. I know you have little of them.” Faye says, looking through the tree scrape and towards the sunset.

“It isn’t a waste if they are spent on someone I—“ Her eyes flicker to his. Lukas begins to fumble hastily. She looks as though she’s losing interest, her eyes glazing over and staring at him blindly. “Look, I know I may be not the one you love or desire, but—“

She presses her lips to his, this time harder. The words falter. Her tongue slips through his lips, stroking the edge of his mouth, her hand digging into his thigh again. Another slips up his back and knots in his hair, tugging it slightly. Her kiss is intoxicating: perhaps because this is his first true kiss, not just pecks on the hand or cheek. Perhaps it is something about Faye: the girl who comes across as gentle and simple on the surface, but is more of an aching, lovelorn mess than she lets on. 

She shoves off the basket on her back, takes Lukas by the shoulders and spins him in front of her. She wheels back against a tree and looks up at him. “Kiss me.” She orders.

Lukas falters for a moment, staring down at her with wide eyes. Was she expecting him to back her against a tree and make out with her or...

Mila above.

He flushes nervously as Faye bites her lip. “You don’t know what you’re doing at all huh?” She asks.

He nods sheepishly as Faye licks her lips. “But I want you to teach me how to love.” He says, reaching for her hand. “Show me that it’s real and not something spoken of in books and lied about in court.”

Then, as he thinks a proper knight would do to a lady, he raises her hand to his lips and presses a kiss against the back of it. Sick, he is not a knight and she is not a lady and this is not the Zofian court. They’re soldiers and this is a battlefield, where they walk between life and death everyday. And on the battlefield, in the fading sunlight, Lukas finally realizes what he wants. What he sees when he looks at Faye. From across the battlefield, through fanned flames, when she helps him prepare food, when she looks at him under her lashes. Right now, when she’s perhaps pitying him, perhaps smitten with him.

He wants to hold her. He wants her love. And most he wants to touch her, hold her. He just doesn’t know how. Lowly and softly he pleads to her. “Please, show me how to love.”

Her brown eyes send him falling again. Gingerly, she reaches out to touch his cheek. Her fingertips are cold and icy against his warm skin. “Okay,” she relents in a soft breath. Gently, she slips behind him and helps him take of the basket. In a haze, she pulls his face back to hers and kisses him again passionately. His lips part, allowing her tongue to slip through and explore his mouth. Her hands slither up his sides, along his shoulders and around his neck. Her body presses against his.

“This your first time kissing a girl?” She asks when she needs to break for air. Her voice is breathy and soft.

“Yes.” He says. “Can you tell?”

“You’re a little stiff, but you’re not... breathless.” She says.

“Is this your first time kissing a man?” 

She half shrugs, not bothering to look away. “First time kissing a man I don’t know well at least.” She says. She swallows hard, moving her hand to his brow. She plays with the edge of his crimson hair, fingertips brushing against his skin. 

“And you have...” he pauses, searching for the right word. “Experience?”

“A little knowledge.” Faye says, holding his gaze. “Do you have the endurance?”

“I never did break many sweats.”

She lets out a soft laugh, one that makes him flush bright red. “You seem a little tense. Try laughing a little.” She suggests.

Lukas softly chuckles but it doesn’t feel right. It comes out forced. “How about I tell you about that myth from my village.”

“I’d like that.” Lukas says.

Her hand reaches for his, pulling him towards the tree and backing him against it. “It’s sort of a way of dating.” She says gently, continuing to play with the edges of his hair. Her fingertips graze against his skin, her nails scraping ever so gently. “In secret, at least.”

“Perhaps like courting?” Lukas suggests.

Faye shakes her head. “Far from it.” She says, leaning a little closer to his ear. Her breath is warm against his skin. “A lot of them would go out to mess around with each other.”

“How scandalous.”

“No one would ever say a thing.”

“Why the woods though?" He questions, brow furrowing.

“For firewood. We would all need it and it was a job given to the young folk.” She says, gently stroking his hair. Her touch is intoxicating. She begins to pull him down gently. “My Nana always said firewood would spark the flames of love in a girl’s heart.”

“Oh.” He softly rumbles. “So when I—“

“You asked me out.” She admits. “I didn’t know how to process it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He says, being as sincere as he can be.

“I would feel your sentiments better if you touched me.”

He places a hand on her shoulder. Faye hides a laugh, then takes her hand in his and guides it to her neck. His thumb rests on a shiny spot; the skin feels like scar tissue. Lukas tries to ignore it, but his eyes continue to wander to it over and over again.

“Would it help if I eased you in?” She asks. “Take it slow?”

“I want to go at the speed you wish.” He musters. “You are the educator.”

“This isn’t about me.” She says, standing on the tips of her toes to hold his gaze. “This is a two way-road.”

Lukas swallows back a bit of fear and nods. “I would appreciate going slow.” He discloses. 

“Then we’ll pace ourselves.” She assures him.

Softly, Faye takes his hands and pulls him down to the forest floor, pushing him gently—but firmly—against the stump of a tree. Her fingers rub along his hand and Lukas watches intently as she takes the left one, breaks away the gauntlet from it. She is a quick-paced mess in battle, but quite in control and slow now. She kisses his fingers, then along the tendon of his thumb and to the centre of his palm. Her lips softly brush against his callouses. She presses his hand to her cheek and he feels himself fall to his knees.

She leads his hand to the side of her neck. Her soft hair brushes against his hand and he wishes to touch it, perhaps bury his face into her soft plaits and feel how gentle they are against his face. He watches as she presses his hand to her scar, the soft tissue against his fingers. She pulls herself a little closer, pushing him back against the base of a tree so that he’s braced. She moves her hair over one shoulder and brings herself closer, her lips wavering over his for a moment. The hesitation kills him, and he brings his lips to hers.

Gently, she guides his hand to the curve of her hip, somewhere safe and clothed. Thankfully her armour his gone, but the uniform doesn’t allow him to touch her soft skin, which he yearns for. His heart is at war: wanting desperately to touch her and to not to at the same time. He wonders if her freckles trace her entire body, or if it’s just in a few spots. She lowers the collar of his shirt and makes a mark on the side of his neck. 

Against the shell of his ear, she whispers to him like a temptress. “Do you know what you like?” 

He’s not sure, but when she kissed his hand he felt a rush of excitement through his body. “No.”

“Would you allow me to explore?” She asks.

“Yes.” 

He sees a flicker of excitement in Faye’s eyes. She gently tries nibbling at his ear, then moves along the shoulder of his uniform and breaks away his breastplate to scratch a nail against the fabric. 

But she gets a reaction when she digs her hand into his thigh again. He doesn’t realize he’s groaned with pleasure again until Faye is staring at him with a smile. Her eyes flicker to his pants, where bulge grows, trapped and uncomfortable.

She looks away instead, loosening the clasps of her pauldrons and gauntlets. Her fingers move away at the line of buttons that go from her waist to her neck. She undoes them to her breast bone. She moves a little closer to him, kissing him hard once again and taking his hand in hers. While his eyes are shut, he can feel Faye move his hand towards her breast. Lukas hesitates for a moment, the strict rules of nobility and knighthood telling him to stop. 

But this is war and many things happen in battlefield tents and in tactics rooms. Lukas follows her leading hand, touching the fabric overtop her breasts. Her lips pull away from his, gasping slightly as she lets go, a sign, perhaps, for him to explore. She buries her head into his shoulder, her breath hot against his skin. 

His hand slips underneath the fabric of her uniform and then what he guesses is her brassiere. Lukas’s fingertips graze the side of her breast, then her nipple. She gasps again, one of her hands curling into his scalp with pain and pleasure. 

He squeezes her tit, making her cry out a little. He hesitates. “Keep going. Please.” She encourages.

He finds her nipple, gently pinching it so that she squeals a little. She pulls herself closer to Lukas, closing any possible gap between the two of them... And resting right on his fighting erection. 

He winces as Faye looks back to him, his hand half in her shirt. “We’re both teasing each other now huh?” Her face is flushed, eyes wide with what might be lust, what might be worry. 

“Seems so.” He manages. 

“I don’t really enjoy teasing.” She muses. 

“Neither do I.”

“But in the interest of going slow...” she says, lowering herself back to straddle his legs. She’s warm and wet against his thighs. He winces with pleasure, feeling cock only grow harder. Slowly, she pushes his legs together and straddles him. Their clothes brush against his dick, making him turn bright red and gasp a little. Sweat threatens to bead down his brow.

So much for composure and endurance. 

Faye’s hands latch around his neck as she grinds against him again. She’s slow, rocking her hips back and forth with agonizing speed. “Touch me again,” she says softly into his ear, voice breathless. 

“May I?” He asks, quickly adding: “Apologies, I must insist.” 

“Yes please.” She whispers softly. 

Lukas moves away her shirt, slipping his hand inside her brassiere again. The fabric brushes against his fingers as she rolls her tit in his hand. Her lips part, breath hot on his neck as she gasps again. There’s a sweet little wince that makes him hungry for more. 

He runs his fingertips along her skin, then touches her nipple. She murmurs something again. The knight then wraps his finger around her nipple and pinches it, at first slow and soft then harder, between his thumb and digits. 

“Lukas,” she gasps, she grinds on him again. 

“Are you alright, Faye?” He asks. 

“Harder.” She breathes, rubbing her ass against his dick. He obliges, adding more pressure before she grows tired and pulls herself from his shoulder. Her face is bright red, lips wet with saliva and eyes dazed with lust. She drops her shoulders, moving herself quicker and quicker on his cock like she’s thrusting herself onto him and gasps his name. 

He winces, rapt with pleasure but can’t take his eyes off her. She’s beautiful, peerless in sight. She lowers fabric of her brassiere so that both her breasts fall out. The freckles are everywhere, all faint, all so precious and cute. A large, dark mark sits between the valley of her breasts. For a brief second, he thinks of pressing his lips to it, worshiping every bit of her body. As his eyes linger for a second, he notices another shiny piece of scar tissue—this time wider and longer—across her breast bone. It’s quite large, hidden underneath the edge of her shirt. From the way it’s healed, is old and had no white magic to it. He’s never seen such a mark before, not even on his fellow soldiers. 

Her wavering breath catches him off guard. She looks down on him and swallows hard. “Touch me,” she almost begs. He forgets about the scar. 

He reaches for her as she turns away from him, sitting with her back to his face. She’s gasping, moaning softly as she thrusts against his clothed dick. He notices one hand brace herself against his thigh, making him gasp a little again; the other slips into the waistband of her trousers, moving in and out quickly. She’s getting herself off. He must take notes. 

But right now, he moves slow, running his fingertips against her breasts and rolling her nipples in his hands. She chokes out his name on a gasp, panting quickly. 

He moves slow, enjoying how she practically begs for his touch. He grinds his hips against her ass, making her moan a little as the hand inside her pants moves quicker and quicker. He begins to follow suit, feeling the need to come draw closer and closer. 

His face buries in her hair, taking in the scent of the battlefield and something pedestrian, like flowers. It’s soft against his face, comforting like a warm blanket. His nose and lips curve into the back of her neck; he dares to press a kiss against her skin and makes her wince. 

The hand bracing herself against his thigh moves up to grab a fistful of his hair, pulling him to rest against her shoulder. She’s full on panting now as he slows down. She winces, her hips circling in a mesmerizing way. She takes one of his hands from her breasts, breathlessly speaking to him. “Will you touch me?” She asks. “And bring me to the edge?”

He feels an uncomfortable flush. The silence between the two of them is enough for her. “It’s okay, I’ll get there eventually.” She tells him, a little gasp on the end as she gives one last, hard thrust against his cock. Lukas watches as she turns back to face him, eyes wide and face red. He wonders how he looks when she smirks a little. 

But, he remembers something that Python spoke of doing when he spent nights with women. _“After I fingered her, I licked my fingers clean. Drove her wild.” He’d said._

Lukas reaches for Faye’s hand as it comes out from her waistband. First, like a gentleman, he kisses her palm chastely. Then, like a rake, he takes her fingers in his mouth and sucks her off them. Faye’s eyes grow as wide as saucers, her lips parting slightly. The look is searing, one that will haunt many dreams after tonight. 

She gathers herself, sliding off of his throbbing cock and sits back on her thighs. She gently moves apart his legs, sitting between the gap. Her eyes flicker back down to his crotch. “May I?”

“Please.” He whispers, voice hoarse.

Gently, she runs a hand over the fabric, making him gasp a little. She smirks before moving away the belt and undoing his pants. Time passing agonizingly slow before she pulls his cock out. Her touch is electrifying against the shaft and he fights making another noise.

“Tell me if you want to stop.” She whispers.

He’s about to say something when Faye strokes it. He sharply breathes in.

Beating himself off has never been like this. Always mundane and performative: clear the mind, knock himself out and sleep, out of boredom. A couple minutes, hard thoughts of a beautiful woman and perhaps he could come. It always felt... halted. Unable to fulfill. In truth, the best times have been lately, when he’s had a passing thought or two of her. And a simple stroke from Faye leaves him ready to burst. 

What the _hell_ do they teach girls in villages?

She touches him again, teasing and gentle. Not even halfway up and she stops.

“How do you go?”

“Slow.” He whispers. His voice is strained.

“I prefer fast.” Faye says, raising a brow. She starts again. She takes him in her hand, slowly bringing her hand up his shaft. He winces and cusses under his breath as her fingers slip over his head.

He fights to not come; it feels like an uphill battle when she moves so slowly so deft after grinding on him hard and whispering his name gently. 

He’s going to come, and quick. Quicker than he’s come on his own with his hand. So much for slow. She gently, but firmly rubs him down, precum bubbling from his head. She drags a finger nail along his balls and he gasps her name.

“Faye—“ He catches himself as she presses her lips to his shaft and takes his head in her mouth. The touch of her lips sends a surge of electricity through his body and he comes. Right in her mouth.

He turns beet red as her eyes widen. She turns her head and spits out his seed into the overgrown grass, giving him one last rub as he finishes. Sharp as soldier, he pulls himself from pleasure to apologize. “I‘m sorry, I should have warned you—“

She holds up a hand. “First time right?” She asks. “It’s okay.”   


“Where did you learn that?” He asks red faced as his dick falls from it’s stance. He tucks it back into his pants. She moves her breasts back into her brassiere, swiftly doing up her shirt to hide the scar. 

“Gray’s got two older sisters.” Faye says with a shrug.

“And they just told you about that?”

“They gave me some tips. What else can you do for fun with girls in a village.” She says. “Talk always got interesting when we sewed together.”  Faye wipes the back of her mouth with her hand. “Anyways, I’m going back to camp.”

“Faye, wait.” He says, reaching out for her. His hand meets hers, and she stops, turning to face him. Her cheeks are red with a flush.

“What?”

“I was serious.” He says. “I want to understand love. And I want to learn it from you. Not just the act either.”

Faye’s gaze narrows. “And what of after the war?” She asks. “A noble and a commoner is... it only happens in fairy tales, Lukas. Women like me don’t get carriages and fancy ball gowns.”

“Change is upon Valentia.” Lukas says, he leans closer and adds: “Men like me do not look well in suits and on stallions either.”

Her gaze narrows as he kisses her again, his fingers grazing against the scar on her neck. She gasps. “Please,” he says softly. 

She pushes herself against the tree, nails curling into the bark as he moves a hand under her shirt and into her brassiere again. He catches her nipple between his index and middle fingers, squeezing it for a moment. 

“Lukas,” she whispers loudly. Such a gasp makes him hard again. 

With his other hand he pushes her hair away from the back of her neck and lets his teeth graze her skin. She gasps in pleasure then moans a little when he marks her with his lips. He hopes it won’t be visible, but at the same time he doesn’t give a shit. Into her neck he whispers, “Teach me how to love, Faye.”

And she turns back around, his grasp around her nipple wrenched. Her lips meet his and she pulls him down hard. She kisses him hard and pulls his ear to her lips. “I think you’ve already got a good grasp but... As you wish.” She says. 

His touch lingers on her body for a few more moments, exploring the spots that make her gasp—the scar on her neck, her feather-soft sides, the back of her knee (which makes her squeal in the most delightful way). Then, gingerly tilting his head to her gaze, Faye presses an innocent (enough) kiss on his lips. “We need to go back.” She says. “I promise that we’ll teach each other how to love.”

“We?” He echoes. He fixes her mussed hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. She flushes. 

She nods, the ghost of a smile creasing her lips. “Teaching isn’t just a one way road. Come on.”

She leans down and picks up her basket-full of sticks and twigs, beginning back down the trail they followed. Lukas feels a blush sear his face as he reaches for his own basket. Night has fallen, and they’re surely missing the firewood. He wonders what excuse they will come up with, but instead thinks of the softness of her lips against his and the gentleness in her gasps.


End file.
